


Catfight

by DevineMandate



Series: The Three C's [1]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:20:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29703246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevineMandate/pseuds/DevineMandate
Summary: In character?  Ehhhhhh...Fun? You decide.
Series: The Three C's [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2186751
Comments: 10
Kudos: 21





	Catfight

Robin was out by herself to eat some excellent food. In the five plus years she’d been in London, she had never treated herself to anything approaching a luxurious meal, the only occasions for it early on being events with Matthew. It was not a thing she could afford to do with any regularity, but she was more than two years on from the sob-filled cab ride away from her and Matthew’s gorgeous facade of a home, and her only experiences with fine restaurants since then were birthday adjacent.

It was nice, really, eating alone. No conversation to lubricate, no timetables or emotions to consider and adjust for in other people. Just you and the food (and it WAS excellent, the one-time expense justified itself) and your thoughts. Robin was usually okay alone with her thoughts these days and that was good progress from five years ago.

She wouldn’t have minded if Strike were there of course.

Robin rose and went to the ladies’ (her most valuable items taken with her in a very large pocket on her dress--she loved dresses with pockets). Bodily functions sorted, she emerged from the cubicle at the same time as another woman did a few toilets down. She went to the sink and washed her hands, and then her peripheral vision sent a unique and enormous distress signal: _her!_

No, it couldn’t be. She glanced just barely to her left, toward the woman and the loo’s door. It _was!_

Charlotte Campbell blinked up at Robin’s slight movement, and her large, captivating eyes widened in recognition.

It was frustrating, how objectively and devastatingly beautiful Charlotte was; a very young Isabella Rossellini was a valid comparison point and yet Charlotte was forty years old. Robin’s confidence in her own looks had risen some in the last several years; her colouring no longer bothered her, she now thought of her complexion as “clear” rather than “washed out”. Charlotte’s beauty, however, was on a higher plane, like a goddess from Olympus ( _Aphrodite no doubt_ , she thought bitterly) had descended to earth.

“Well, erm, this is awkward,” said Charlotte. “I’d say it’s lovely to meet you, but is it really?”

Robin blinked. “No. It isn’t.”

“Good, we agree! Now we know where we stand. Well, let me just ask you now since you’re here and Corm won’t talk to me anymore.”

“Anymore” sounded more frustratingly recent to Charlotte than five years ago, or even the Olympics and Chiswell...when had she and Strike last spoken? Had Strike finalised it in a way he never had before?

“Are the two of you together yet?” said Charlotte. “I’m dying to know. It seems inevitable to me. You’re single now, aren’t you? He’s a devastatingly attractive man, isn’t he?” Charlotte saw the answer in Robin’s face. “My god, you’re not?! You wouldn’t believe how good he is…”

Robin spoke: “Charlotte, this _is_ awkward, and I don’t really see a reason we should keep speaking to each other.”

“Because I have unique insight into Cormoran Strike!” said Charlotte. “You could learn so much from me. Some of it you might not really want to hear, but I know that man’s darkest places. It’s a jungle in there.”

“I don’t need to learn anything from you that he hasn’t told me, and I’m offended by your salaciousness.”

Charlotte laughed heartily. “My _salaciousness_? Oh, Robin,” she said, with ugly familiarity, “you have no idea how very salacious Corm can get. I bottomed him out and _oh_ , did he ever bottom me out. It was so intense and nasty sometimes.”

“He’s a wonderful man who endured years of abuse from you and I’m done talking,” said Robin, walking past Charlotte toward the door.

“Such a young girl...tell me when you’ve spent sixteen years sorting out Corm’s bullshit and childhood trauma, literally carrying him everywhere, and then maybe we can talk.”

Robin was nearly as furious as she’d ever been in her life, and she turned on her heel and got close to Charlotte and stooped to Charlotte’s level, literally and otherwise: “I’m curious myself, really, Charlotte. Do you think those on and off sixteen years actually add up to the five cumulative ones I’ve spent with Cormoran? The one time he tried to leave me, he couldn’t do it, and came back to me in a week. Can’t say the same, can you?”

An ugly, pinched grimace took all of Charlotte’s incredible beauty away. “Shag him and find out if it stays that way. Can’t say you have, can you?” Her arm shot out without warning and Charlotte’s punch connected with Robin’s mouth and jaw, one ring smashing and cutting Robin’s lip. Robin blinked, her vision blurred, and she shook her head to try and move the layer of cobwebs Charlotte had thrown over her brain.

Charlotte smirked and looked at her expectantly, like she couldn’t wait to find out if Robin would run or talk or fight back.

Robin had a moment of pure and complete pity for Cormoran. The day she’d met him, he’d borne signs of being physically attacked, and she’d deduced a bit after that it was Charlotte. She’d assumed the injuries were a unique event in their relationship, the day it ended and all, emotions running high. However, she read in Charlotte’s punch the history of a person who goes to brutality quickly to sort out problems: it wasn’t only herself she hurt this way. It connected for Robin that Cormoran was a repeated recipient of domestic violence...a man so large, a woman so slight and beautiful...who would believe it? He couldn’t very well retaliate, could he? And then, the worst question occurred to Robin along with a falling sensation: were Charlotte’s children safe? Robin’s rage transitioned from boiling hot to icy cold.

“All right,” said Robin, and she spat blood into the nearest sink. She very quickly removed her earrings and necklace and stuck them in her pocket. “Try me again, Charlotte, and see how it turns out for you.”

Charlotte rushed immediately, snarling, her long-nailed fingers all together in front of her and going for Robin’s eyes.

Robin pivoted and used her right forearm to mash against Charlotte’s wrists and her right leg to trip Charlotte with her own momentum.

Charlotte fell awkwardly, halfway onto a sink and then with a thud to the floor. She was instantly up again, and she grabbed a tress of Robin’s hair and pulled hard toward the sinks. Robin screamed and reached to grab her attacker’s wrist. Charlotte’s other hand closed around more of Robin’s hair and she swung both her arms and bashed Robin’s head, _hard_ , into the sink. Just before her head connected, Robin thought: _I knew men were capable of this kind of violence, not sure I’ve met a woman this savage._

Robin’s perception of reality swayed with the blow near her temple, but she instinctively grabbed the front of Charlotte’s blouse with one hand, pulling her, and punched hard below her ribs with the other hand. Charlotte was winded and doubled over. Robin stood up, but swayed again with dizziness, almost literally seeing stars.

“Bitch,” gasped Charlotte, still trying to draw breath.

Robin said nothing and waited for Charlotte’s next move, trying to keep her thoughts clear.

Still doubled over and seemingly winded, Charlotte suddenly launched herself forward and down. She grabbed Robin’s ankles and yanked her feet out from under her. Robin fell onto her bum, and then Charlotte dove again, this time shoving Robin in the chest so that her head nearly hit the floor, and then Charlotte was straddling her and Charlotte’s hands were around her throat.

“This ought to feel familiar, right, Robin?” panted Charlotte.

Robin saw red. She grabbed both of Charlotte’s wrists and, with the unthinking force of someone whose life is threatened, yanked them apart and off of her, hard enough for Charlotte to shriek. One of Charlotte’s hands escaped Robin’s grip and she reared a fist back to bring it down into Robin’s face, but Robin caught it and twisted Charlotte’s hand with almost enough force to break her arm. Charlotte yelped and grabbed helplessly at her sprained wrist.

Robin sat up and grabbed Charlotte’s waist with both hands and lay on her back again to raise Charlotte into the air ( _bet she wishes she wasn’t so fucking slight now_ ). She kicked ferociously into Charlotte’s midsection and Charlotte flew a few feet and landed on her back.

She’d gotten up too many times for Robin to let it happen again. Robin straddled Charlotte, and Charlotte flailed toward Robin’s face, but could not stop the four vicious haymakers Robin threw, two on each of Charlotte’s flawlessly smooth cheeks, and she punctuated each punch: “Sod! The! Fuck! Off!”

Charlotte went limp, and Robin spat blood again, this time onto the floor near Charlotte’s head. She got up, feeling her injuries to make sure nothing was actually broken, and looked down at the unconscious Charlotte.

“Now who’s the bitch?” She wanted to sound like Arnold Schwarzenegger or Sigourney Weaver, but with the adrenaline wearing off, her mouth and jaw hurt too much for it to be more than a pathetic mumble.

Shit, there could be a lot of bloody trouble, she thought, as rationality returned. It was her word against Charlotte’s.

A closed cubicle door flew open and a woman, probably in her mid-twenties, burst out with her phone held up. “Holy shit!”

Robin sighed, feeling relieved that someone had been listening, but she also felt oddly awkward. “Don’t suppose you have the whole thing recorded?”

“Nope!” said the woman brightly. “Just started! But I’ll testify in court, no problem. That woman was mad!”

“Thank you,” said Robin, with sincere gratitude. “Since the action is over, could you maybe stop recording and call the police and an ambulance? I’m pretty sure both of us should go to A & E.” Robin gestured pointlessly toward Charlotte. “We’re both probably concussed.”

“Oh, yeah, of course! No problem!” She dialed 999 and raised the phone to her ear. Before it connected she said, “I think I’m a big fan of yours! Aren’t you Robin Ellacott? Is that Charlotte Campbell? And were both of you talking about Cormoran Strike?!”


End file.
